A Time for Us
by Helena Mira
Summary: This is a companion to the T rated story "Fifty Shades of Post-Partum." Explicit scenes have been written at the request of those readers. This story is best understtod in the context of the other.
1. Sweet Dreams

**A Time for Us**

**This story is a companion to "Fifty Shades of Post-Partum." It contains more explicit love scenes. Each chapter is tied to another chapter of the larger story.**

_A time for us, some day there'll be. _

_When chains are torn by courage born of a love that's free. _

_A time when dreams so long denied can flourish. _

_As we unveil the love we now must hide_

_A time for us, at last to see. _

_A life worthwhile for you and me._

_And with our love, through tears and thorns. _

_We will endure as we pass surely through every storm. _

_A time for us, some day there'll be a new world. _

_A world of shining hope for you and me_

_For you and me._

_And with our love, through tears and thorns. _

_We will endure as we pass surely through every storm. _

_A time for us, some day there'll be a new world. _

_A world of shining hope for you and me._

_A world of shining hope for you and me._

Love Theme from the 1968 movie_ Romeo and Juliet_

Reprinted without permission

**Chapter 1: Sweet Dreams**

After months of this illness, this depression, I am finally rediscovering that part of me that craves my husband in a sensual, sexual way. I used to call her my inner goddess, but then she started to piss me off. Her one-track mind really irritated me, so I killed her off. I no longer have any need of foolish metaphors to think of being with my husband like that.

Here I am in the hospital. I suppose that as hospital experiences go, it's not too, too bad. I have a private suite with essentially no visiting hours and no restrictions on my visitors. I have my own private nurse and my own private doctor. I don't even have to eat hospital food or sleep on hospital sheets. Sometimes it's good to be Christian Grey's wife.

The worst part about being here in the hospital is the lack of any real privacy. At home, even if Shonda, my nurse, is down the hall in her own room, we know that she will not enter unless called or without knocking. We can lock the door. In this room, it is impossible to lock the door, for obvious reasons. My safety is the biggest one. What would happen if I could lock her out?

Right now I can think of several things, none of which involve hurting myself. I realize that I not only want privacy with my husband, I need it. It has been a long day. There was my first group therapy session, talking with Charlotte, and then talking with Mia and Ethan, so much talking and so tiring. Will a shower restore me?

As I step into the shower, I can't help but wonder about what Christian is up to now. It seems as though every time I turn around now, he has devised some sweet, little thoughtful gesture to comfort me. Is a simple basket of roses really so much? Or pictures of Christmas loaded on the iPad?

I remember the days when it was laptops and Blackberries and cars and, oh yes, the iPad itself. Those were grand gestures, not born out of a desire to comfort (except for the iPad), but out of an obsession with my safety. And then there were the clothes, so many clothes, bought so that I would be properly dressed when I went out on his arm. They were gifts, which met some deep need in him to control me.

The hot water feels so good as it rushes over my body. Without thinking, I shave my legs. The hair is so long that I could braid it. I look at myself and frown. The last Brazilian wax was months ago. Should I? No, if I don't do it perfectly then he will take matters in his own hands, literally. I still haven't gotten over the humiliation in London on our honeymoon. He's just going to have to live with the natural look.

Wait a minute! What am I thinking? Or am I even thinking? (Well, with my mind anyway.) I haven't felt this way in months. He's been sleeping by my side for months and I haven't felt this kind of . . . desire. Charlotte did promise to talk to Shonda for us, to tell her to leave us alone so that we could . . .

When I am finally ready (I'm still not sure of what for), I enter into the room and see that Christian has set a peaceful, almost romantic, mood. There is a sweet smelling candle lit on the nightstand and music softly playing on the iPad, the Marcello, sad but intensely beautiful and evocative of better times. It reminds me of the first time, the time when I woke up after he had taken my virginity and left me alone in bed. I found him playing the piano.

I glance over and he is sitting on the couch, but not expectantly, as I would have thought. No, he is looking at me cautiously. And I can see in that instant that he doesn't want me to feel compelled to do anything that I don't want to do. Yet, I feel compelled to do something.

"You've thought of everything," I say quietly and walk over to the nightstand where the familiar foil packet lies next to the candle.

I pick it and turn it over in my hands. More memories flood my mind. I remember when I didn't know what to do with one of these.

"Your choice," he says gently, but with a catch in his voice. "Your speed."

I drop the packet back on the nightstand and turn to him. He is looking at me with love, not lust. The pull of his soft grey eyes is magnetic. He is dressed in pajamas, both shirt and bottoms. An errant thought crosses my mind. We'll have to fix that, won't we?

Words pass between us. They are meaningless, yet filled with meaning, saying things that betray the depths of our feelings.

"You have changed very much," I finally say, almost involuntarily.

"Haven't we both?" he responds.

Once again, he says more, but I don't hear him. My ears are humming as I approach him. His eyes on me, despite their caution, are hypnotic. I reach out my hand and he grasps it. And then he allows me to pull him up and in front of me. Slowly, I slide my arms around his neck and press my lips against his.

Unconsciously, I open my mouth and his tongue slides in to explore. Then I give myself over to my instincts. I feel the warmth rippling through my body and press myself against him. I feel his erection against my belly and press my hips closer.

In a second, I am in his arms and he walks over to the bed and lays me down. I tremble in anticipation. I want him desperately, but I am afraid that when the moment comes I won't be able to follow through. He seems to read my mind and lies carefully down beside me. He turns on his side and rubs his knuckles softly on my cheek. Where his skin touches mine, it tingles.

"Whatever you want, whatever you are ready for," he says gently. "I will follow your lead. If all you want is for me to hold you as you sleep or to watch you as I did that first night, then that is what I will do."

"Is that enough?" I ask, fearful that I will disappoint him.

"That was one of the happiest nights of my life," he replies. "And my first concern has always been to protect you and keep you safe. That includes now."

His response is so _Christian _that I have to smile. I lean over him and kiss him. I close my eyes so I can appreciate his taste and scent more fully. My hands move of their own accord, as he grasps my head. Then I shift myself because I want him on top. I can feel how careful he is not to put his full weight on me, undoubtedly fearful that he could crush me. I know what he wants, what I want.

I begin by unbuttoning the nightshirt that I am wearing. I feel as though I can't bear to have any barrier between us and I know that he is reluctant to do it for me, to push me into anything against my will. I am not sure that he realizes that my will is his. i want this as bad as he does. I can feel his hands, his mouth, his tongue on me. It makes me come alive again. Oh yes, insanity, it has been insanity to deny myself this pleasure for so long. My hands find his shirt buttons and I pull it off so that I can feel him.

Christian is the only man with whom I have shared this most intimate act between a man and a woman. I gave myself to him years ago, my virginity freely offered up to this most masterful of all lovers. I have only ever been his and since he met me, he has only ever been mine. But now he stops for a moment. Even though I can feel that he is ready to explode.

"You!" his voice is hoarse. "Your lead. Take me where you want."

I have no words to express my desire, but at least I remember the condom. I pick it up and unroll it on him, as it is his turn to tremble in anticipation. He is so strong, so firm beneath my fingers. I am almost reluctant to cover him up, but I have no choice. I can't risk another pregnancy right now. And since Phoebe stopped nursing I have lost even that bit of birth control.

"You! Now!" I say when he is fully sheathed.

"Are you sure?"

_Am I sure?_

"You," I hear myself gasp. "My choice . . . For me!"

He lifts his hips and thrusts more gently than I would have imagined, vanilla at its best. There is no impatience as he moves, as we move. Perhaps it is because we don't know when this will happen again. Or maybe we want _this_ to last for as long as possible. I don't know, I am operating so slowly that I am barely present mentally. Yet physically, I am giving myself over to the gentle rhythm, feeling him move within me, savoring every inch of him as he fills me.

It has been months since he has been inside me, and years since we have used a condom. There is not as much lubrication as I might want, probably the meds, but there is no stopping for either of us. We must complete this act, bring it to its obvious conclusion. I feel myself building. And then he stills, quietly releasing and emptying himself into me. His release brings mine, barely a second later.

The orgasm rips through me but I don't cry out, still dimly conscious of the sharp ears of the nurse in the outer room. Containing myself like that intensifies the experience and I collapse, exhausted from the effort. He leans up and we gaze into each other's eyes. This is love, complete bliss.

"I love you," he whispers in my ear.

"Me too," I reply.

Vaguely I am aware as he turns me around so that I am cradled in his arms. As I lose consciousness, I am vaguely aware of the iPad still playing in the background. Basking in the afterglow, I feel his hands softly caressing me. It is soothing, not at all stimulating. Once upon a time, it might have been. Once upon a time, we might have continued for a few more rounds. But once upon a time is long ago. Now we have this one precious moment, this one sacred act to enjoy.

I close my eyes and give myself over to the physical reality of his love, and drift.


	2. Reawakening

**A Time for Us **

**Chapter 2: Reawakening **

Last night was the first time in months and now, gloriously enough, it look like this will be the second.

Love in the afternoon. So different and yet so similar to love in the depths of night. The light is astounding. A hospital room with very sterile lighting. I have always hated fluorescents. They are just too bright. Ana is lying on the bed before me, waiting and trembling as she did last night. I dislike the coloring of her skin under these lights, so I turn them off.

Now she is caught in a shaft of mid afternoon sunlight. My Ana, so beautiful. Her skin glows with the sparkle of the water droplets that still remain from our shower together. But her hair, her lovely thick brown hair is fully dry. I made sure of that just now. I could look at her for hours. But her blue eyes are looking directly back into my own and suddenly the desire to look is replaced by the desire to touch.

Her desire clearly matches my own. But I have business to take care of first.

"Not now Shonda," I call, not waiting for a reply.

Ana smiles up at me and I walk over and sit on the bed. Very carefully, I unwrap the towel from her body. Oh yes, it's just as lovely as ever. Who would have thought that the mother of two could maintain such a lovely shape. Of course it's somewhat different from the early days, different in a good way.

Her breasts are fuller and hips are rounder. She is still slim, but no longer boyishly so. Now she is all woman. I wonder how her body will fill out when she begins to put on weight again. I suspect that I might have a more voluptuous body to enjoy and to pleasure. I lean up a bit, but before I can, she has pulled the towel from my waist and set me free. She smiles appreciatively.

With a sense of regret, I pause to pull out a condom and deal with it. I am hard enough, but not entirely ready. Still, I don't want to make any mistakes that might start this whole illness all over again. And once we get caught up in the moment . . .

I lean over her now and kiss her deeply and her hands trace circles over my back and shoulders. Her touch is still . . . everything. My eagerness is such that I am afraid that I might explode prematurely. However last night, in my excitement to be inside her once more, I didn't take the opportunity to enjoy the outside. I settle myself comfortably myself more comfortably beside her and set about my exploration.

Touching her is not enough, I want to taste her, every inch of her, before I take her. With my brain on automatic pilot, my libido in check, and my tongue at the ready, I begin my advance. Exerting iron control, I taste her arms and shoulders first, saving her breasts for as long as I can before I finally take one in my mouth and suck.

I am surprised and pleased to discover that I can still taste a bit of breast milk. It is so sweet, just as I remember it. It is difficult, but I let go of one and find the other. And to my delight, it also yields a few drops. How can something intended for the nourishment of an infant yield so much erotic pleasure? I don't know, but I have other places to explore.

I move lower, skirting quickly past her hips and belly. I have only one prize in sight. I gently smooth away the dark hair from my goal. It brings back fond memories of the early days, before the days of Brazilian waxes. I wonder if she will let me take care of it, but remembering her mortification that night in London when I took a razor to her I don't even ask.

Instead, I sigh and take take her in my mouth. She tastes every bit as sweet as ever. Perhaps it is the length of time since we have done this, but she begins to quiver almost immediately. And before I have really taken my full pleasure if her, she lets loose with a gut wrenching orgasm. I had not realized how sensitive she would be after all this time, but for several moments I am afraid that she is going to literally expire if her own pleasure as she gasps for breath.

Her body, which had very nearly flipped itself off the bed, stills for a minute and I take the opportunity to enter her. Last night, I took her at a calm, peaceful pace. But seeing her almost ripped apart beside me, I find myself unable to curb the urge to slam into her. And damn, but it feels good.

She whimpers as I plunge in and I can feel her tightening around me and building towards another release. She throws her head back and coughs and stutters. I hardly notice, I am so busy working towards my own release. We simultaneously explode around each other and I see stars. Holy fuck! That was intense!

And it goes on and on, both of us grasping and choking with each new tremor, until at last our bodies are spent. Exhausted and glistening in sweat we lay wrapped around one another until the peace is shattered by a knock on the door. Time to eat? I guess I just worked up an appetite, but I don't really feel hungry, not for food anyway.

Earlier this morning, Ana woke up fearful that last night's lovemaking was only a dream. But there is no mistaking this time around. There are some things that you just can't dream.


	3. Release

**A Time For Us**

**To my readers: This story correlates to the end of Chapter 56 of Fifty Shades of Post-Partum. This story expresses the scenes that are too steamy for the T version.**

**Chapter 3: Release**

One of the advantages of the improvement of my state of mental health is the reawakening of my libido. I suppose that the biggest indication of the severity of my illness was that I had absolutely no physical desire for my husband. When I first realized it, it was shocking.

From the very beginning, I craved intimacy with this man. I signed a non-disclosure agreement before I even knew why I needed to. When I innocently asked if he was then going to make love to me, he practically laughed in my face. Before me, Christian Grey had never made love to anyone. He, in his own words, fucked hard. But I remained undeterred.

Before I had even arrived at his apartment, via the helicopter that he piloted himself, I had chosen him as the man to whom I would surrender my virginity. And I didn't care if it was by making love or fucking hard. It just had to be to him. I calmly went on a tour of his "playroom," which I later nicknamed the Red Room of Pain. I then sat through a set of rules laying out all the kinky things that we would or would not do. Then, it was my turn to drop the bombshell.

The look on his face was one of horror. At first I thought he was disappointed. I. Thought that there was no way that he would want a virgin. He offered to bring me home, still intact. But I had come there to be deflowered, and I wasn't taking no for an answer. The end result was that I got my way and he had his first experience with vanilla sex.

And his mother nearly walked in us while we were pretty much buck-naked and post-coital. She was shocked that he had someone in his bed and then relieved because I was female. I was mortified because I was obviously in the state of being "just fucked." He was amused by both of our reactions. But from then on I couldn't get enough of him.

Knowing that vanilla sex wasn't his thing, I let him take me into the playroom and engage in some pretty hot kinky sex. I even let him procure birth control for me because he hated condoms. The only place where I drew the line was that I wouldn't let him beat me. I walked out after he struck me with a belt so hard that it left welts.

But that accomplished a change in him that I never thought was possible. I couldn't bear to live without him, and he without me. The separation was pure hell for both of us. Recognizing that he couldn't live without me, he gave up the "hard shit." He would not use belts, paddles, or whips on me ever again. He I'd the very thing that he thought was impossible. He changed.

The man who was only interested in BDSM contractual agreements on the weekends wanted me to move in with him permanently. He let me sleep in his bed. And then, the biggest shocker of them all, he wanted to marry me. I offered to live in sin for a while, but that wasn't good enough for him. It had nothing to do with any old-fashioned sensibilities either. He didn't want to lose me ever again.

He was my first and only lover. Like Pygmalion, he molded me into his ideal woman. And I was so deeply in love with him, that I let him, in the bedroom anyway. We had plenty of fights over other things like work and friends. But as long as he didn't hurt me, I was open to any of his kinky games. It didn't even bother me when he spanked me with his hand, especially with those silver balls that he keeps hidden away from me.

Since my illness, we have only made love a few times. And that is exactly what it was, making love. He was gentle and tender, and so careful to focus on my pleasure first and foremost. There were no ropes or cable ties, not to mention the clamps or vibrators or any other toys. It was just about sweet and tender lovemaking, vanilla sex with no add-ons. But I am starting to miss the other stuff.

After all, he has been able to give me some totally mind-blowing orgasms in the past. No one knows better than he does how to tease and titillate until the female body rockets out of control. Part of it, is to pleasure me, but another part is to pleasure himself. Nothing brings him to his own spectacular climax than my own.

So tonight, I have decided that I need to bring some of that back into our sex life. I know how I want to start. I need to begin with some good old-fashioned oral sex. On my first try, I earned an "A" in blow jobs. Now all I need to do is set the scene. I know that he will be only too happy to return the favor, if I cause him to break apart in my mouth. Nothing turns him on like a little deep throat action.

I look through my drawers and discover some of my sexy lingerie from times gone by. I frown and wonder if they will still fit me. The last thing that I need is for them to be so big that he is afraid of hurting me. Granted, they are a little large when I try them on, but nothing too noticeable in the half-light of a candle or two. While he is getting ready in the bathroom, I drape myself in a very open position over the bed.

I know that he will be very pleased with what he sees. I did a very careful job of giving myself a Brazilian wax. He is so fussy about these things, and I don't want to break the mood by giving him the chance to "clean up" anything that I miss. And the crotch-less panties are probably the sexiest articles of clothing that anyone has ever invented.

Once upon a time, I would have been embarrassed to expose myself like this to him. But after three and a half years of marriage, there are no secrets between us. And he is more familiar with my body than anyone else. In fact, he has been in more places than my OBGYN. The look on his face when he walks out of the bathroom is worth the effort of my preparations.

"You're overdressed," I greet him, in my huskiest voice.

"Um, yeah, I guess that I am."

I love it when he's speechless. And know I know that it means that he still finds me desirable. This is good, very, very good.

"What are you waiting for?" I ask, as he stands frozen.

"I'm waiting to wake up and find that this is all a dream," he whispers.

This is getting us nowhere. As gracefully as I can, I get up from the bed and sashay over to him. I grasp his nightshirt by the lapels and grind myself against him. Then I find his mouth and draw him into mine.

"Does that feel real enough to you?" I ask as I release him.

"Real, yeah, very real," he moans.

Smiling, I unbutton his shirt and pull it off his shoulders. Then, I let my tongue glide down his throat heading in a straight line for his happy trail. Kneeling before him, I pull down his pants so that he springs free. Play time! I take him in my mouth and suck hard.

"Oh, Ana, oh," he groans, as he grasps my head.

I plant my hands firmly on his rear and draw him further in, just the way he likes it. But it has been so long that he is gasping instantly. We hold each other steady as he explodes, wet and loud. I swallow quickly and continue it suck as he writhes above me and then, unable to stand any longer, he collapses to his knees before me. It isn't long before he recovers himself and gently lays me on my back in the deep pile carpet.

"I would put you to bed," he says between kisses. "But I don't think that you would appreciate the wait."

"I've been waiting months for this," I reply as I arch my back off the floor. "I'm out if patience."

"So am I," he replies urgently, grasping the shoulder straps between his hands and ripping the delicate fabric apart so that I now lay completely naked in front of him.

He falls upon me quickly and hungrily. I can feel his lips and his tongue exploring every inch of my body. I can feel myself quivering in response. He firmly grasps my right breast between his teeth and then, before I realize it, he is sucking hard. My body's response shocks me, as I feel the milk expressing through the nipple, my lower half is shaking, sex and motherhood, what a combination. But it's almost an oxymoron that a pair of utilitarian glands can provide so much carnal pleasure fir us both.

"Mmm," he murmurs. "Nothing better and sweeter in the world."

Leaving that one behind, he takes the other and sucks even harder. Christian always did enjoy the taste of breast milk. But I know that he is longing for the taste of something else. I try to mentally prepare myself for the ultimate conquest, but there is no way to anticipate his mouth as it descends upon me rapidly.

""Oh, God!" he gasps, "I have missed this. Try not to climax too quickly."

Orgasm control has never been one of my better talents, but like him, I want this to last for as long as I can stand it. The last time, back in the hospital was gut-wrenching, but too quick. His tongue mercilessly assaults me and then stops.

"You prepared for me," he whispers. "I like that."

I whimper in frustration. Who cares if this is over quickly? It's not like we don't have all night. He takes me again and I can't stand it. I explode so loudly that I am afraid that Sawyer will come running because he is afraid that I am in excruciating pain. But there is no urgent pounding on the locked door. I guess after all these years, he can tell the difference.

My mind feels as if it is being ripped apart and for a minute, I can't breath. Holy fuck, that was good! I am barely aware as Christian picks me up and carries me over to the soft bed. I open my eyes to find him looking down upon me in wonder. Feather light, his finger caress my face and trace the lines of my body.

"So beautiful," he muses. "And all mine. You know that you are everything to me. They all told me that I couldn't live without it for so long, without sex."

"They?" I ask.

"You know, everyone," he says. "They were all positive that I would have to cheat, I would have to get it somehow. But _this _is nothing unless its you. Who could endure an empty, meaningless act, when they have the most amazing lover in the world."

"You were never tempted?" I ask curiously.

"Oh, there were women who tried," he replies. "You know, I had more offers than I knew what to do with from women who knew you were sick. But they made _me _sick. But no matter how much they tried to tempt me, I was never even tempted to give in. You are my heart and soul and I could never betray either. I hope that you didn't think that I would."

"It never once occurred to me that you would cheat on me," I say honestly. "I trust you."

"I know," he says. "That is part of why I never would. I would never do anything to destroy the trust that you have in me."

I snuggle closer and wrap my body around his.

"Are you ready to sleep?" he asks solicitously.

"No, I didn't think so," I say. "I'm just resting up fir round two."

"Round two?" he asks eagerly.

I nod and he pulls himself on top of me thrusting his pelvis into mine. I feel his rock hard cock pressing against my stomach and automatically shift and open my legs.

"Ah!" I breathe as he enters.

And then we start to move, looking for a second release. There is a lot of pent up sexual tension in both of us. It will probably take more than one night to release it. But then, I remember the cable ties in the nightstand. I'm glad that I'm ready for round three.


	4. Valentine's Day

**A Time For Us**

**To my readers: For those of you not following Fifty Shades of Post-Partum, this chapter follows Chapter 60, Babysitting of that story. In that story, Christian and Ana have gone away for their first weekend without the children in months. It is further progress of the return of Ana's libido to normal after her illness.**

**Chapter 4: Valentine's Day**

"Will you be my valentine?" asks Christian as he wakes me up in our king size bed in the Aspen house.

I stretch out languidly as I wake up to the feeling of his mouth on mine. I lift up my arms to grasp him but wince in pain. Even though I was only out on the bunny slope yesterday, I ache all over. My limited exercise routine with Claude for the last few weeks had not prepared me for getting up on skis and trying to maintain my balance.

I was never more grateful for our Jacuzzi as I was when we got back yesterday afternoon. The feeling of the warm jets pulsing on my sore muscles was exquisite. But of course, not nearly as exquisite as making love to my husband afterwards. Because he could see that I was in real pain, he insisted on a very gentle night. Gentle maybe, but we still got very little sleep.

Even now, I can still feel the longing rise up in me. How long has it been since we have had one of these marathon sessions? Probably not since before Phoebe was born. I was pleased by my own endurance. But then again, sometimes the taste of mild vanilla only increases the appetite for more.

And there was something freeing about being alone in the house with the Bentleys in their own apartment. It was nice not having to worry about children crying in the night to interrupt our pleasure. And now, it's just as nice to repeat the experience once again.

There is something erotic about watching my husband's face as he enjoys my body. His eyes are appreciating every curve and dip as he moves lower down my body. While his mouth creates sensations that resonate deep in my lower half. It is sheer pleasure to lie here and let the feelings sing through my veins as my body involuntarily arches in search of his tongue.

"Really, Mrs. Grey," he says as his fingers wander over my belly and between my thighs. "Haven't I satisfied you yet?"

"No," I am barely able to cough out. "Oh, please!"

"But I'm not ready yet," he whispers seductively. "Why should I have to do all the work?"

I grab him and squeeze hard. He is as hard as a rock.

"Like hell you're not ready!" I gasp, as he shifts himself above me.

Looking down on me, he laughs.

"Well, since it is Valentine's Day," he begins and then slams into me, harder than last night.

"Oh!" I cry out, half in pain and half in ecstasy.

In less than a second, I have forgotten my aching muscles as I arch up to take him in. I practically suck him in as far as he can go. We both like it deep. Once again, it feels good to connect, to feel him inside me as he begins to move around. He moves steadily, but not with the fierce of his initial thrust. I can easily meet him blow for blow so that we are soon moving together in perfect harmony.

"You are so beautiful," he whispers, as he slows his movement again.

A new ache begins to develop as he sets a leisurely pace.

"Oh, Christian, please!" I beg.

"Please what?" he whispers seductively. "Do you need something from me?"

"I need a fucking orgasm!" I say through my teeth.

"Well, that's not the only way you can get one," he replies. "But for now it have will do. I imagine that you don't want to stop and start again."

In answer, i plant my hands on his rear end and push hard. Then he picks up the pace and I feel my body trembling, coming close. But I can tell that he is close too. This time, I know that he will follow through. I claw my nails down his back and he ignites. A split second later I hit my climax and we begin to ride the waves together. We writhe together in pleasure, yelling at the top of our lungs. And boy does it feel good!

Later, as we lie wrapped around one another and we've finally caught our breath, Christian says, "I love it when you talk dirty, Mrs. Grey."

"I had a master teacher, Mr. Grey," I say, as I weave my fingers through his hair.

"So, Valentine," he asks. "What shall we do today? More skiing, or stay in and catch a movie."

"I would rather go snowmobiling," I say.

"You know how I feel about you and snowmobiles," he growls.

"And you know that I have never taken a spill on one," I reply. "I've taken several falls from the jet ski and you still let me ride those."

"You can do a lot more damage falling into the snow than the water," he says.

"What's the difference?" I shrug. "They are both H2O. One is liquid and the other is solid."

"My point exactly," he agrees. "Landing on something solid hurts a hell of a lot more than splashing in something liquid."

"Christian," I say in frustration. "My arms are killing me from pulling myself around on the bunny slope. I want to snowmobile."

"Okay," he admits. "The bunny slope is boring. We can cross country ski."

"Christian!" I say. "I just want to have a little fun, isn't that good?"

"Of course it's good," he replies. "But killing yourself is definitely not good."

I stare at him in shock and for a brief moment he is confused.

"No, it's not," I say tersely.

"Ana, honey, I'm sorry," he says instantly remorseful. "You know that is not what I meant."

"I know," I answer briefly and hop out of bed.

He follows me to the bathroom and looks helpless. I don't know what to say. His fears for my safety have often been expressed in these terms. But he is going to have to change his speech patterns or we will continue to have these uncomfortable moments. I turn around and face him.

"Look, Christian," I say tensely. "I know that my safety has always been your priority. I've lived with your paranoia now for almost four years. But it's gotten old. Every stupid thing that I do is not going to lead to my death. The only conscious, reckless choice that I've ever made that has put me in danger of dying was the Jack Hyde thing. And now, looking back on it, even I agree that I was ridiculously foolish in that case.

"But doing things like going out for drinks with a friend or joy riding in the Mediterranean on a jet ski may be thoughtless, but not life threatening. It hurts when you say something about me killing myself. It really hurts. Now I'm going to let this one go by because I know that this expression is somewhat engrained in your speech patterns, but 'unengrain' it! I don't want to hear it again!"

As I am speaking, I can see him settling back on his heels with an amazed look on his face. Then slowly, he begins to smile.

"Is 'unengrain' even a word?" he asks facetiously.

"Well, I'm glad that you find my little tantrum amusing," I say sarcastically.

"Yeah, um," he says, smiling more broadly. "But amusing isn't really the right word. And I'm not smiling because for the reason that you think I am. I am just so _pleased _that the real Ana is back!"

"You mean the one who scolds you when you're being a jerk?"

"Yes!" he says. "Exactly that one! Do you know how long it's been since you yelled at me like this? I mean I've often thought that you were kind of cute when you stood up to me, but this is hot."

Looking down, I can see that, indeed, my little speech has certainly aroused him. The only question now is whether I will take advantage of this here in the bathroom or back at the bed. Well, we've just had bed sex. I launch myself at him and he takes me in his arms, picks me up, and swings me around. I lock my mouth onto his and press myself against his body.

As I hungrily take in his mouth, he backs us up into the shower and turns on the water. I can hardly feel initial blast of cold because I am so wrapped up in him, literally as well as figuratively. As the water warms, I feel his hands soaping up my body, once again lingering over every inch. I follow his example and take some body wash to run my hands over his lean, hard muscles.

When he is satisfied with teasing my body, which is practically humming with desire, he pushes me up against the wall and picks me up. We know this move well. As he sinks into me once again, I wrap my legs around him. This time, his climax precedes mine by barely half a second. I knock my head back against the wall and momentarily see stars, but I don't care. Within seconds I am seeing another kind of stars.

When we are out of the shower and he is blow-drying my hair, he notices the bump on the back of my head. He stops the dryer and gently touches it.

Without thinking, I say "Ow!"

"Did I do this?" he asks nervously.

"You smacked my head against the wall just now," I say. "Remember?"

"Actually, I don't," he says sheepishly. "I guess that I was caught up in the moment."

I see my advantage and go for the jugular.

"So now," I say. "Let me get this straight. You won't let me go snowmobiling because I might get hurt. But just now I got a real good-sized goose egg on the back of my head while having sex in the shower. I suppose the next thing that you are going to forbid me to do is have sex."

He opens his mouth in amazement at my logic, but then shuts it.

"Okay, you win," he says grudgingly. "We'll go snowmobiling after breakfast."

I smile in satisfaction. I've won my point. The headache that I'm feeling from my headache is definitely worth it. As Christian continues to dry my hair, I can see that he is looking at me speculatively. I have no doubt that he is very pleased that I have taken another step forward.

When he is done, we both finish dressing and go down to breakfast. Mrs. Bentley is preparing French toast for us this morning and it smells delightful. As soon as we sit down, she is pouring our coffee. After we are done eating, Christian pulls a small box out of his pocket and sets it down because me.

"Happy Valentine's Day, darling," he says.

I open it and see that he has given me another piece of exquisite jewelry to add to my collection. It is a ruby, carved like a heart, on a gold chain. The facets catch the sunlight coming through the window and sparkle.

"It's lovely," I breathe, as I pull it out.

"It's even lovelier around your neck," he replies, as he takes it and fastens it on.

My pulse begins to race again as we kiss and an instant later I pull back.

"Is this an attempt to keep me from snowmobiling?" I ask suspiciously.

But Christian just holds up his hands and looks innocent.

"I brought this with me from Seattle," he answers virtuously. "Would I use it as a ploy to get you back into bed?"

I narrow my eyes at him. Of course he would. And it looks like it's going to work. But that will still leave us plenty of time to go out and play in the snow.


End file.
